


Always Right

by speccygeekgrrl



Series: speccygeekgrrl's 2014 Kink Bingo fills [9]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, F/F, Teasing, kink bingo, post episode: s04e05 Prophets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 13:28:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2623424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speccygeekgrrl/pseuds/speccygeekgrrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Root likes to keep Shaw on her left. Shaw, being exactly who she is, wants to be where she isn't meant to go. Her reasoning is flawed, but then, Root has a way of really fucking with her head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always Right

**Author's Note:**

> So I was writing a lot of these two before the end of last season, and then I got distracted by other shit in the hiatus, and it took me this long to come back to (where I belong) these two lunatics. But my November writer's block got DEMOLISHED by this today, so I'm hoping to wring a few more stories out of this sudden productivity! Promise the next one won't be this sappy. Samaritan is serious business, and I've got some catching up to do from where I left these ladies last time.

Root likes to keep Shaw on her left side. In a car, when they’re walking, even when they’re just eating Chinese food on the couch at the safe house, Shaw notices that Root puts her on the left, and of course if Root likes something, Shaw has to try and mess with it. So on the rare occasions they tumble into bed together, Shaw makes sure that she ends up on the right side of the bed.

It seems to be happening more often lately, though. The more they go into deadly situations, the more either of them is struck with the thought that she might never see the other one again, the more they end up in the same place afterwards, checking up on each other, and usually the verbal sparring falls apart into biting kisses, a bit of hairpulling, someone getting pushed up against a wall or down to a bed. Depending on the injuries involved, there might be some playing doctor. Shaw won’t ever admit how much she enjoys playing doctor, stinging the raw edges of Root’s wounds with alcohol and the way Root’s eyelids flicker at the pain so slight it might as well be pleasure, stitching her up and bandaging her, the tension under Root’s skin that unleashes as soon as Shaw is done tending to her in Root’s playfully sadistic sexual advances. The number of times Shaw’s ended up leaving bloody handprints on sheets because Root won’t give her time to wash her hands after fixing her up is rising.

Tonight will be one more mark to add to the stained sheet tally, but this time Shaw didn’t even think about cleaning her hands, didn’t even give Root the chance to act first after she tied off that last bandage. Tonight is one more night when Samaritan came far too close to crossing Root out, the bullets Shaw had to extract from her flesh still glistening with wet blood on the tray when Shaw tangles her bloody fingers in Root’s hair and kisses her with all the terror and fury she felt waiting to hear whether Root survived at all. When she pulls back, Root is grinning.

“Gosh, Sameen, I might get the impression that you were worried,” she purrs, and Shaw scoffs.

“Concerned, maybe.” She combs her fingers through Root’s hair, tugging at the tangles, and Root just tilts her head back and looks at Shaw with that knowing expression that makes Shaw simultaneously want to punch her in the jaw and kiss her until she’s breathless. “Shut up,” she says, and takes the latter option, breathing in Root’s chuckle and chasing it back between her lips. When Root settles a hand at Shaw’s waist, drawing her closer, that point of contact gives the adrenaline still swirling through her blood another jolt of strength, and she pulls Root to her feet, walking her backwards through the apartment, Root trusting Shaw not to steer her wrong on their way to the bed. Shaw pushes, and Root sprawls across the bed, stretching out languidly and smirking at Shaw like this is exactly where she belongs.

Root’s already only half-dressed, wearing just a bra and bandages on top, and Shaw peels the pants down her long legs and throws them aside before she gets going. It’s been too long since the last time they did this; the bruises Shaw left have faded, replaced with bruises Root has picked up in the course of her rapid identity-swapping lifestyle. The outsides of her legs are banged up, but the skin of her inner thighs is pale and unmarked until Shaw drags her nails across the tender skin. Root shivers and parts her legs wider, the action an offer but the look on her face turning it into a demand, a demand that, for once, Shaw wants to fulfill. She bends to set her teeth into Root’s thigh, bites down hard and worries the flesh, not pulling away until she’s left a brilliant scarlet mark with the clear prints of her teeth along the edges. Root props herself up on her elbows to look down, and she looks almost impressed, and almost isn’t good enough for Shaw, not right now. She goes for the other thigh with the same amount of focus, slightly higher, and doesn’t relent until she hears Root whimper-- not a pained sound, but a pleased one.

“Trying to outdo yourself?” Root asks, and now she does look impressed at the matching marks, and Shaw hums, presses her thumbs into the new bruises just to watch Root’s gaze go heavy-lidded and slides her hands up until she’s just teasing at the edges of Root’s panties, tracing the line of the fabric and smirking when Root arches her hips, trying to make her move. “C’mon, Sameen,” she urges, “you’re too straightforward to tease.”

“Oh, am I?” Shaw says, grinning down at Root, who’s got the look of a woman who’s just misstepped. “I don’t know, you’re not straightforward at all. Maybe you’re rubbing off on me.”

“I’d like to be rubbing off on you,” Root retorts, and sighs when Shaw moves her hands in the wrong direction, all fingertips and light touches going down her legs. Shaw sheds her own clothes before climbing onto the bed, prowling up between Root’s legs and straddling her hips, pinning Root’s wrists to the bed in her bloodstained grip. Root honestly likes this angle, likes Shaw above her, the way her hair falls around her face when she’s leaning over Root, likes the possessive way Shaw probably doesn’t even realize she’s looking at Root. She fights against Shaw’s hold on her wrists, surprised when Shaw lets her go easily, and she settles her hands at the dip of Shaw’s waist, her injured arm not willing to go much higher than that. Shaw leans down more, until she’s stretched out on top of Root, and she presses her mouth against Root’s right ear and says something that the cochlear implant doesn’t quite catch. “What?” she says, but Shaw doesn’t repeat herself, just kisses Root’s ear, her cheek, her lips, almost sweetly.

Straightforward is a good word to use for Shaw, usually. She’s not big on a slow buildup, comes in hard and fast and goes right for the throat, bringing the same level of violent efficiency to the bedroom that she does to her real job, and Root has no complaints whatsoever about that state of affairs, but it seems like Shaw has been taking notes on teasing, because some of the moves she proceeds to put on Root are Root’s moves. The necklace of kisses, that’s definitely Root’s move, and the single fingernail down the breastbone, interrupted by the bra she never had a chance to remove. Shaw leaves the bra in place, bites Root’s nipples through the light padding, the warmth of her mouth diffused by lace and silk and the added curve that Root’s breasts don’t need to look perfect. When Shaw’s hands cup Root’s hips, palms pressed to her iliac crests and thumbs playing just under the waist of her panties, Root arches her hips again just to make Shaw push them against the bed.

“Sameen, please,” Root breathes, and Shaw looks up, dark eyes wide and framed by her dangling hair. Root doesn’t ask nicely in bed, she demands, and Shaw can ignore or yield to demands as she chooses, but this… this is something she doesn’t have a defense against. “Please stop teasing me. I need you.” If this is Root being straightforward, Shaw doesn’t know how long she can survive the honesty shining in those honey-brown eyes. Root bites her lower lip, staring up at Shaw, and it hits her in a way that no torture has ever managed.

“Fuck,” she says, and literally tears Root’s panties to get them out of the way, two fingers pressing into her at once, an easy glide with how sopping wet she is. Root cries out, tossing her head back, and the moment their shared gaze breaks, Shaw’s in motion, getting her mouth between Root’s legs, too eager to give her exactly what she wants. She’s much more at ease when the only thing spilling from Root’s lips are wordless whimpers, when she can just close her eyes and immerse herself in the immediacy of the moment, the taste and smell of Root filling her senses with a wordless honesty she can handle, instead of the sight and sound of the honesty she’s at a loss to deal with. Root gets a hand in Shaw’s hair and they’re back on familiar footing, Root making demands and Shaw giving in to the ones she wants to do anyways.

She can tell Root is getting close by how tight the hand in her hair is, by the tone of her moans, and when Shaw gives her another finger and tightens the focus of her tongue, she’s rewarded with something more than the climax she was aiming for. “God, Sameen,” Root gasps as her cunt flutters around those curling fingers, and Shaw stifles her own gasp against Root’s flesh. She doesn’t do that, doesn’t invoke those names together at that moment, doesn’t ever call out a name when she comes, except she definitely just did and Shaw is breathless with how much she wants Root to do it again, with how close she suddenly is just from the broken sound of her name. She slides her fingers out of Root and pushes them slick with Root’s juices right into her own body, curls them and thumbs her clit and bites Root’s thigh to keep herself from doing something as stupidly revealing as calling her name right back when she comes seconds later.

“Come here… come up here,” Root insists, pulling at Shaw’s shoulder, “Let me.” Shaw shudders as she withdraws her fingers, falls to Root’s right side and pushes herself up the length of the bed. Root looks astonished at Shaw’s flushed face and heavy-lidded eyes. “Did you already…?”

“Might’ve,” Shaw says, wiggling her fingers, and Root takes her wrist and pulls her first two fingers into her mouth. She tastes Shaw, and herself, and underneath that a trace of her own blood, and she moans around Shaw’s fingers, laving them with her tongue. “Jesus….”

“Close enough,” Root says, kicking the shreds of her panties off her legs and wriggling to unclasp and discard her bra. “Can I spend the night?”

“At least I know you’ll be safe here,” Shaw says, and Root’s eyes light up.

“You do care,” she chirps, and Shaw scowls.

“Shut up and go to sleep,” she says, getting up to turn off the lights in the apartment. When she comes back to her bedroom, she finds Root with the covers pulled up to her chin, watching Shaw move around. Ever aware of the possible need to run at any moment, Shaw doesn’t sleep naked, but she has no objections to Root being naked in her bed. She climbs into bed, turns off the lamp, and starts slowing her breathing.

“Thank you for taking care of me, Sameen,” Root murmurs, and brushes her lips against Shaw’s cheek, and Shaw stops breathing altogether for a couple of seconds. She doesn’t know what to say, and after another moment Root turns away, curling up on her left side and going still.

Shaw lies next to her, listening to her breathing slow, and when she’s almost certain that Root is asleep, she leans in and whispers into Root’s right ear, “I might be falling in love with you.” And then, satisfied to have spoken the words confident that Root wouldn’t hear them, she can find her own way to sleep.

Root, very much awake, thanks the Machine that Shaw couldn’t tell the difference between a “repeat that” “what?” and an “I can’t hear that” “what?” Her cochlear implant couldn’t parse what Shaw said when they were in motion and breathing hard, but in the silence of the dark bedroom, every word of Shaw’s whisper registered loud and clear, and the words shine brighter than jewels in Root’s all-too-dark mind.


End file.
